


Black Diamond/Ice Sky

by NothingSoDivine



Series: Sxyvaan [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Anyways, Established Relationship, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Randomness, Sex, Singing, Tentabulges, WUZZLES!, Xeno, Xenophilia, artistic characters, i don't even know what i'm doing, karkat tops, musical Dave, musical Karkat, musical everybody, singing Karkat, what have I done here, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSoDivine/pseuds/NothingSoDivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas loves performing.<br/>Dave loves that Karkat loves performing.<br/>(I should really fix this summary, but I don't know what else to say.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Diamond/Ice Sky

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I have no idea.

Karkat Vantas loved being onstage.

He gripped the microphone tighter in his sweaty hands, waiting, listening carefully as the haunting bassline swam in his ears. He knew, of course, that most performers loved the stage – that was the reason they performed, after all! But for him, it went deeper than that.

The violin jumped into the song, as frantic and caustic as the bass and the keyboard were languid and haunting. The crowd cheered, and Karkat smothered a grin. Perfect.

The music thrummed through Karkat’s body, propelling him upwards, until his mind was floating above the sea of people, every one of them listening raptly as he opened his mouth and started singing.

The crowd went crazy, and Karkat had to momentarily close his eyes as his consciousness jolted back into his body at the sound. Fuck, that was beautiful. He reopened his eyes.

Sometimes, Karkat sang high and haunting; sometimes, he sang low and dangerous; sometimes, he sang brutally angry. This time, his voice was a purr, the sexy murmur that had men, women, and trolls all over the country whacking it to the music pouring from their speakers. And Karkat knew it. (That was Rose’s fault.) Which is why he caught the eye of the cute little jadeblood in the front row and winked. She toppled over with a squeal of joy.

The lyrics were in English this time, though when writing the song Karkat had taken the liberty of throwing in a few purring phrases in dripping Alternian, just to get the most out of all those fans with language kinks. They’d gotten a fan letter once, pointing out that “a fuuucktonnn of youuur fannns probably have lannnguuuage kinnnks, annnd those that didnnn’t originnnally totally do nnnow, becauuuse come onnn, that accompannniment + sexy voice + filthy phrases in Alternnniannn = eargasm for the majority of the popuuulationnn, Mr Vannntas, annnd it wouuuld be very muuuch appreciated if youuu were to exploit that more thannn juuust onnnce every couuuple of albuuums, youuu’ve got a fuuuckinnn stellar combinnnationnn there”, and ever since Karkat had come up with some more songs of that “fuuuckinnn stellar combinnnationnn” their popularity had skyrocketed to the point where they were able to consistently hire an orchestra for their concerts, instead of only occasionally as a special treat. He purred out another Alternian phrase – he wasn’t entirely sure how this particular idiom translated to English, despite his linguistic skills; something about tongues and skin and an act humans had no word for, though in Alternian it was called _kyevrosch_.

He sensed one of the three Daves onstage move up behind him, and when he caught his breath between lines he let his tongue make that noise that drove humans completely crazy, the one they couldn’t quite make themselves. This particular Dave was on – Karkat’s ear twitched – bass, and the sound stirred Karkat down to his roots. The lights; the smell of his own sweat and Dave’s sweat and the sweat of the crowd, of the pheromones and hormones wafting through the air; the way the sound oozed through him; the way that one _perfect_ flick of Dave’s wrist made the sound blossom perfectly throughout the concert hall… Karkat kept singing, thankful for the fact that his bulge was locked securely in its sheath by the clamp he’d purchased in the beginning of their career, feeling the music try to stir it loose. Sheath clamps may have been uncomfortable, but they kept him from embarrassing himself onstage, and that’s what mattered.

This particular song was from the Black disc of their latest album, _Black Diamond/Ice Sky_. The two-disc album had consisted of one disc of songs for blackrom, and one disc of a mixture of romance-neutral and pale songs. The critics had flipped their shit, calling it “incredible” and “a Gorgeous combination of Haunting, Eerie blackrom pieces and their more Earthy counterparts”. One had actually gone so far as to call it “thE pEnUltImAtE stUdy In cOntrAsts; A mUst-Own fOr Any fAns Of shIfAn’s mUsIc, hArdcOrE Or OthErwIsE.” Of course, that particular critic had managed to misspell their bandname, but that was forgivable. Practically nobody could remember how to spell Sxyvaan. They tended to spell it phonetically, to some extent: Shifan, Chyffon… many reverted to spelling it Szyvan, though there was the occasional English-speaker who spelled it Chiffon, like the fabric. Karkat and Dave didn’t mind. It was a weird name. (Karkat blamed Dave.)

The song finished on a haunting chord between cello, organ, violin, electric guitar, voice, and bass. The crowd went crazy.

Karkat leaned over to Dave. “What do you think?”

“Last number, right?” Dave replied, and Karkat nodded.

“Big finale, then,” he suggested. “Ice Sky?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Karkat agreed, stepping back up to the microphone.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he announced, waiting for the crowd to quiet down before continuing.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he repeated, “and various assorted others. Thank you all very much for joining us here tonight. We know some of you want to get home to bed, and we know some of you never want to leave!” There were a couple of whoops from the back, and Karkat grinned. “But unfortunately for those of you who don’t want to go, it’s getting about time to.” There was a collective groan, and Karkat held up a hand. “Therefore!” he continued, “as a parting gift: I give you, Ice Sky!”

The cheers were nearly deafening. The orchestra conductor cued the piano.

The music started, and the crowd went silent. It was just the piano and the harp – nothing more, nothing less. Karkat started singing.

Ice Sky was a particular favourite of Karkat’s. The haunting vocals, the simple-yet-beautiful accompaniment – and he’d even done a good job of the lyrics. It was their masterpiece, and Karkat doubted they would ever be able to top it. It had so far spent a month at No. 1 in multiple countries, with the different-language versions making it damn close. It had had the most success so far in Austria, with the French version at No. 2, the German at No. 4, the Portuguese at No. 5, and the Alternian at No. 7, all simultaneously.

Drum Dave joined in, simple and clear, followed by violin Dave. The Dave on bass stepped up to the second microphone.

“ _And if you want to tell me something_ ,” Karkat sang, crystalline and heartrendingly beautiful, “ _Leave a message at my door._ ”

Dave sang the next lines, his slightly rough but achingly heartfelt baritone providing a sweet contrast: “ _But if you want to say goodbye, then I’m sorry_.”

Their voices lifted together, bleeding into the chorus. Karkat could already see and smell some tears shining in the dark. There were a few cellphone flashlights waving slowly in the back, and before Karkat had time to fully focus on the song, it was over.

There was a moment of pindropping silence before the crowd erupted in screams and applause. Karkat broke into a grin. He took Dave’s hand, raising their clasped hands in the air and bowing deeply.

“Thank you all so much,” Karkat said into the mic. “Goodnight!” Waving, he backed his way off the stage as the two other Daves bowed as well, setting down their instruments and vanishing back into the future from whence they came.

Dave set down the bass, following Karkat off the stage. Backstage, the crowd noise was nothing more than a dull roar, and he made his way into his and Karkat’s shared dressing room.

He didn’t even have half a second to orientate himself before Karkat grabbed him by the shirt collar and shoved him against the door, causing it to slam shut behind him. He also didn’t have a second to catch his breath, as they were already kissing, sloppy and wet and urgent. Dave’s hands flew instinctively to the buttons of Karkat’s black shirt, while Karkat’s hands occupied themselves with Dave’s red one.

“Good show tonight,” Dave gasped around a mouthful of Karkat’s tongue.

“Yeah,” Karkat agreed, fingers stumbling on the second-last button of Dave’s shirt. “Really good audience.”

“Your voice was really clear,” Dave murmured, tilting his head sideways, as Karkat moved down to attack his neck. “Damn good sound guy remembernottoleaveamark,” he finished in one breath.

Karkat hummed the affirmative. “We should hire him, he did a fantastic job and I know by n– fuck,” he gasped as his shirt gave way under Dave’s fingers, allowing him access to Karkat’s grubscars.

“The clamp seems to be working well,” Dave managed, one hand at Karkat’s grubscars while the other slid down to his jeans.

“Fucking uncomfortable as hell,” Karkat replied, finally springing Dave’s last shirt button open, “but working perfectly.” He sank his fangs into Dave’s collarbone.

Dave hissed through his teeth. “Door,” he choked out, fingers fumbling with Karkat’s jeans.

Karkat reached over and flicked the lock, mouthing his way down Dave’s sternum. Dave took the opportunity to divest them both of their shirts, leaving them crumpled at their feet before reaching down and pulling off his army boots. He never wore socks onstage. This was why.

Karkat toed off his own worn Converse, kicking them into the corner. (He never wore socks onstage either.) He licked a trail from the bottom of Dave’s ribcage up to his earlobe, feeling Dave shudder under his tongue. He had to nearly stand tiptoe to reach Dave’s ear.

“I’m topping,” he whispered intently.

Dave nodded. “Okay.”

Karkat buried his hands in Dave’s hair and pulled. Dave moaned, caught off guard, and tugged Karkat’s jeans open in retaliation. Almost instantly, his hand was pressing against Karkat’s sheath.

Karkat moaned, pressing Dave harder into the door and rolling his hips. “Dave,” he breathed. “Dave, get it off me right now.”

Dave shoved Karkat’s pants and boxers down at the same time, letting him step out of them and impatiently kick them aside before slipping his hand between Karkat’s thighs. The high keening that he got from tracing around the clamp Karkat was wearing made him grin.

“Dave,” Karkat demanded, “if you don’t get that thing off me right now I swear I will tattoo my name on your dick in calligraphy using my teeth.”

“Kinky,” Dave replied, unfastening the clamp and tossing it aside. Instantly, Karkat’s bulge was slithering out, wrapping around Dave’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat gasped, rolling his hips into Dave’s hand, “and get on the floor.”

Dave obliged, peeling his pants off as he sat. Karkat crouched over him, placing a hand on each of Dave’s knees and prying them apart. Dave fought against Karkat’s grip for a second, just on principle, before obliging him.

Karkat was feverishly hot, kneeling between Dave’s legs and letting his bulge press into him without a second’s notice. Dave’s head rolled back, thunking hollowly against the door. They’d done this so many times before it was all routine, and yet somehow it never got old.

There was a knock on the door. “Guys?” It was their agent, Nepeta Leijon. “Guys, the fans with backstage passes are knocking down the doors. How long’ll you be?”

“Couple minutes,” Dave choked out, swallowing a moan as Karkat’s bulge lashed against his prostate. “Hold ‘em off.”

“You got it,” Nepeta replied. Her footsteps receded down the corridor.

Karkat had barely noticed she was there. His universe consisted entirely of Dave and the music still ringing in his ears, and he was buried balls-deep, as humans put it, in both. His lips found Dave’s.

Neither of them was going to last. Dave could already feel it. He reached out, fumbling under the dressing table for the bucket and managing to get it underneath them just as Karkat sunk his teeth into the corner of Dave’s neck and his vision went white from pleasure. He could feel Karkat following him a heartbeat later, the sound of genetic material hitting the bucket a familiar one.

Dave allowed himself thirty-four seconds of beautiful afterglow before squirming out from under Karkat and reaching for his pants. Karkat grumbled, half-asleep as always.

“Dude,” Dave muttered, “we’ve got a bunch of half-crazed fans trying to knock our doors down. C’mon, Nep can’t hold ‘em off forever.”

Karkat blinked, vision blurry. “Right. Concert. Fans. Why do we give out backstage passes again?”

Dave grinned and tossed him his shirt. “Because we like getting feedback from our fans, remember?”

Karkat rolled over and started pulling on his pants. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Dave stood and stretched. His red shirt was unbuttoned, but he was wearing it, and his pants were on. He picked up his boots and slid the bucket back under the table.

“Come on, babe,” he said, giving Karkat a hand up. “Let’s go meet some fans.”

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE POINT OUT TYPOS GRAMMAR NAZIS ARE MY BFFS


End file.
